Turnabout Notebook
by ellerean
Summary: Phoenix Wright was at the top of his game, the unbeatable rookie lawyer. But one by one, his clients began to die before coming to the stand: And all of mysterious heart attacks.
1. Chapter 1

_The Defense_

* * *

><p>The courtroom was silent. The judge sat at his bench, staring at the thick, double doors as if willing them to open. Miles Edgeworth was poised at the prosecutor's stand, already sporting a condescending smirk. The bailiffs glanced at each other, checking their watches, impatiently tapping their feet.<p>

And Phoenix Wright's shirt was already soaked through with sweat beneath his jacket. He stared at the mess of evidence spread out on his stand: Crime scene photos; autopsy reports; scribbled notes to himself. But something was missing. There _always _seemed to be something missing, but he couldn't even _attempt_ a coherent explanation.

There was no weapon, no motive, and no witnesses. And his client wasn't there yet.

"Where _is_ she?" Phoenix muttered, and Maya looked up, having been studying the evidence herself.

"She'll be here, Nick!" she chirped. "Gumshoe said they'd bring her right over after questioning."

_More _questioning. All they could determine from their investigating was she _hadn't_ murdered the victim, but there was absolutely no way anyone else could have done it, either.

But for ten former mobsters to die of heart attacks on the same day? Coincidences like that didn't happen.

The double doors slammed open and Gumshoe ran in, red-faced. Alone. Phoenix prayed that his client would appear soon after, or was hiding behind his massive bulk, but no matter how many times he crossed and re-crossed his fingers, she wasn't there. A murmur rose in the courtroom and the judged banged his gavel, calling for order.

"Detective Gumshoe! What is the meaning of this?" the judge asked.

"Sir! Your Honor!" He jogged up to the judge's bench, breathing hard. All eyes were focused on the unfolding drama. Even before Gumshoe made the announcement, Phoenix knew what had happened. He was still in denial until the declaration was made: "It's the defendant! She's dead! Heart attack!"

Maya sighed heavily. "Not again."

* * *

><p>Phoenix avoided the lobby until after the courtroom had cleared. The media hovered outside, waiting for his statement, but he slumped to the floor behind the defense stand and pretended they weren't there. Maya had snuck out to the lobby for Swiss rolls from the vending machine, and a cacophony of camera flashes and reporter's shouts echoed from the lobby before she slammed the doors closed again. She tossed a Swiss roll to Phoenix before sitting on the floor beside him.<p>

"This is impossible," he whined, forcefully unwrapping his snack.

"But we got further than last time!" Maya said. "At least we got to court before your client died."

"Thanks a lot, Maya." Phoenix shoved the Swiss roll into his mouth.

He _knew_ that his clients were innocent. There had been no evidence against them, but the situations were too unlikely to go unnoticed by the court. People were dying of heart attacks all over the world, and at a rapid rate. It was impossible to pin down a suspect, but they kept on dragging them in. Phoenix defended each one of them before they, too, died of a heart attack.

"_I'm_ going to have a heart attack," Phoenix said, hugging his knees to his chest.

Maya tapped her chin in thought. "What we need is a way to hide the case from the media," she said. "If someone is targeting your clients, maybe they won't die if no one knows you're representing them!"

Phoenix clutched at his spiked hair with both hands, pulling at the roots. "But it's impossible! She was in the detention center for a week and wasn't in contact with anyone besides us and the police. How could someone target her?"

He left out the bigger question, which was already getting old, and for which they had no answer: How could a _heart attack_ be a weapon of murder?

"Maybe it's someone in the jail," Maya said, "poisoning food, or—"

A shadow loomed over them both. "Wright."

Phoenix didn't even look up. "Edgeworth."

"I recommend you give this game up," he said, leaning over the defense's stand. "Get up and stop sniveling."

Maya sat up straight, balling her fists. "He is not sniveling!"

"This isn't looking good for you," Edgeworth said, ignoring her. "If your clients continue to die, you won't make it as an attorney. No one will hire you. You're jinxed."

"Thanks for rubbing it in," Phoenix muttered.

"The media is gone," Edgeworth said, standing upright and squaring his shoulders. "There are guards outside waiting to escort you to an armored vehicle." Phoenix peeked out from his folded arms. "I recommend you go home."

"Edgeworth . . ." But he had already walked away, disappearing into the prosecution's lobby. "He's—"

"Let's go, Nick." Maya stood, holding out a hand to help him up. Reluctantly, he balled up the empty Swiss roll wrapper and took her hand.

* * *

><p>"Home" didn't necessarily mean "sleep," though come one o'clock in the morning Phoenix wished that he could. He had spread his meager evidence over his bed, staring at it blankly, wondering what could have gone wrong. Edgeworth was right—he <em>wasn't<em> going to get any new clients if they kept on dying, and it wasn't like he had another career to fall back on. Artist? Pianist? He groaned. He wasn't good at anything, and at this rate he wasn't very good at law, either.

He spread photos of his last three clients across his pillow. Despite how many times he stared at their faces, there was no link between them. The victims they were accused of killing had nothing in common—mobsters, kidnappers, and murderers from different parts of the country. He sighed heavily. He had attempted to find a connection before, to no avail. He wasn't going to find one now, either.

He wanted to ignore the buzzing of his phone, but the illuminated screen was hard to miss in the dim light. He sighed as he picked it up. _You better be sleeping. _Maya.

He considered not answering, as if proof that he _was_, in fact, sleeping, but she knew him better. _Why are YOU up?_

_Can't sleep. Wanna meet for burgers at the diner?_

Burgers at two a.m. wasn't one of his better decisions, but he hadn't eaten since breakfast, before the case. And, besides, staring at this evidence again was going to reveal nothing. So he grabbed his bike helmet and head for the door.

Maya wolfed down her burger as Phoenix studied the diner's middle-of-the-night clientele. College students, security guards, and construction workers filled the booths, eating an early breakfast or chowing down on desserts. Phoenix's own cherry pie sat abandoned on the table. He opted against Maya's selection of a meal; a greasy burger at this hour would only cause trouble later. But the pie wasn't that appetizing, either.

"Figure anything out?" Maya asked, her mouth full.

He hadn't mentioned re-examining the evidence—it was all he _had_ been doing since his first client died unexpectedly, before they even had a chance to go to court. "Nothing." He sighed miserably. "Maybe I should just stop taking these cases."

"You can't do that!" A nearby table of college students glanced over at her exclamation. She lowered her voice. "These people are counting on you, Nick. We'll figure something out! We always do."

Edgeworth's words continued to echo through his head: _No one will hire you. You're jinxed._ What if the only people who hired him now where suspected murderers, and _they_ all died before he could get paid? He was struggling with rent as it was, with his track record of dead clients.

"Nick." He jerked his head up; Maya was picking through the last french fries on her plate as she watched him. "You haven't eaten anything."

"Not hungry," he said, pushing the pie to the center of the table. "I'll just get it to go."

Maya remained silent. He took that as a bad sign, too—if she wasn't pressuring him to solve his problems with food, then he was a goner for sure.

Despite his protests, Maya returned with him to the office. She would have preferred for him to go straight home, but Phoenix insisted on picking up more case files before retiring for the night. To their surprised, there was a blinking red light on the Wright & Co. Law Offices voicemail.

"At this hour?" Phoenix said, as he pressed the button to listen.

The voice was garbled and difficult to decipher, but they leaned in over the machine to listen. "Phoenix Wright," it said. He couldn't figure out if it was a man or a woman. "I require your assistance. I've seen your name in the papers, and you're the only one who can help. I'm being framed. I have sent you two emails, one with my personal information and the other with instructions on how to decrypt the first. Please come to my home tomorrow. This is of the upmost urgency."

They played the message over again, but it was just as cryptic as the first time.

"That's really weird," Maya said. "Check your email!"

Phoenix couldn't deny his curiosity. He opened his email and, sure enough, there were two new messages from unknown names that arrived just an hour before. The decryption was easy enough, though it required some basic math skills that needed major calculator work. When they finally decoded the second message, it contained only a name and an address, plus instructions not to use names within the house. _You will refer to me as the client_, it read, _and I will call you Lawyer._

"I don't like this guy," Maya said, though she was already pulling her coat back on. "Are we going or not?"

"_Now?"_ It wasn't one of their better ideas, but scoping out this mysterious client's house was better than tossing and turning the rest of the night. So, against his better judgment, they memorized the address—it was within walking distance of the office—and locked up.

It took only fifteen minutes to arrive. Phoenix and Maya stood on the sidewalk across the street, watching. Despite the hour, there was still a chance of activity—someone _had_ left him a voicemail not long ago—but the house was dark and silent.

Maya shivered, huddling closer to Phoenix. "This place creeps me out."

"What, like it's haunted or something?"

"No . . . I know what a spirit feels like." She shivered. "Would you mind if I didn't come tomorrow? It feels . . . weird."

"Well, I guess that's okay." When he squinted at the house, he could swear there was a sign of movement in a second-floor window. But it was so quick that he didn't have a chance to register if anything had happened. Phoenix frowned. Why couldn't he get one normal client for a change?

* * *

><p><em>Kira<em>

* * *

><p>"Look at this, Ryuk." Light Yagami leaned back in his desk chair, flicking the newspaper toward the shinigami. "That lawyer made the news again. Looks like his client died." He chuckled.<p>

"Bad break," Ryuk replied, hovering over the newspaper. "Phoenix Wright . . . that's a dumb name. He doesn't have any luck, does he?"

"How unfortunate," Light said, turning back to his desk. "This could ruin his career."

Ryuk lingered, peering over Light's shoulder as he opened the worn, black notebook. He paused only momentarily before scribbling down a list of murderers, thieves, and spouse abusers—anyone who had appeared on the nightly news. "His picture is right here," Ryuk said, waving the paper in front of Light's face. "You could kill him."

Light glanced up at the photograph. Yes, he could kill the pathetic lawyer. His little sidekick, too, and maybe that stuck-up prosecutor he was always up against. That would stop this whole charade. But he leaned back, crossing his arms as he shook his head. "Too easy. He'll end up doing it himself. I want to see how far he'll go to defend his precious clients." He snatched the paper to skim the article again. "Nothing on a new case for this guy?"

"Nope." Ryuk was already bored, stretching back onto the bed to reach for the basket of apples.

"We'll keep an eye on him," Light said, turning back to the notebook. "Let's see how far we can push him before he breaks."


	2. Chapter 2

_The Prosecution_

* * *

><p>Edgeworth enjoyed watching the new guys sweat it out. They were intimidated even before he spoke; just stepping into his elaborate office was enough to start them stuttering. But this one was different. The chief prosecutor had wanted Edgeworth to review Teru Mikami's papers before he went to court—just to make sure—but there was nothing for him to correct. It was immaculate. Mikami himself sat in a guest chair across the desk, ramrod straight with not a bead of sweat on his forehead.<p>

"Very good," Edgeworth said, slipping the papers back into their folder.

"Thank you, Mr. Edgeworth."

He slid the folder across the desk. "You're ready. I have faith in you, Mikami. You will win this case."

Mikami rose, clutching the folder firmly beneath his arm. "Thank you again for sitting with me. It's an honor to finally be working with you." He nodded in an informal bow, then turned to exit the office.

"Before you go." Edgeworth inclined his head as Mikami looked over his shoulder. "The boy you're up against in court today is also a rookie. But don't get overconfident. He's had adequate training."

Mikami nodded again. "Yes, sir. Thank you." He disappeared, closing the office door behind him.

Edgeworth stood, turning to the teapot on the windowsill. He sniffed the teacup and wrinkled his nose; it had gone cold hours ago. Gumshoe would have to dump the entire pot later.

To his surprise, there was a knock on the door. The secretary hadn't alerted him to any visitors, and there was nothing on his calendar for the moment. He had planned to use this time to prepare for his next case.

He sat back down before calling, "come in."

His second surprise was having Phoenix Wright enter his office. Unattended. Maya Fey must be be attending urgent matters to leave "Nick" wandering the streets alone.

"Wright? What are you doing here?"

Phoenix slumped in a guest chair—uninvited—and set a manila envelope on the desk. "I have a new client," he announced.

A year ago Edgeworth would have offered sarcastic congratulations. But he knew what this statement meant: There was yet someone else accused of mass-murder using _heart attacks_, of all things, which was scientifically impossible given the evidence—of lack thereof. Edgeworth still hadn't received a guilty verdict in any of these cases, but only because the accused continued to die. He wouldn't admit it aloud, but he wasn't sure _how_ he could win. It was easier to prove innocence in these cases, because there was no probable method of murder.

"I see," he replied evenly. "And why are you telling me?"

"If it was anyone else I wouldn't have come here, but—"

Edgeworth cut him off. "I'm not doing you any favors."

"No, nothing like that! Well, not really." Phoenix scratched the back of his head. "We're trying our best to hide this one from the media. We're not releasing his name."

Edgeworth nodded. "A wise idea. I'm impressed, Wright. You may have a chance to see this one through."

But Phoenix slouched, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling. "What do you think about all this? I mean, these heart attacks _can't_ be a coincidence . . . right?"

"It's preposterous," Edgeworth said. "Someone is targeting criminals, and he is using a method that cannot be traced. Unless . . ."

Phoenix quickly sat up. When Edgeworth didn't go on he shouted, "Unless _what_?!"

He shook his head. "I won't give you any clues. But you have better access to _alternative_ means of investigation."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Edgeworth shrugged, a sly smile on his face. This conversation was over, and he needed Wright out of his office. He had a case to prepare for. "Go back to work and talk with your assistant. She helps you with the more difficult cases, right?"

Dejected, Phoenix stood and grabbed the folder from the desk. "You make me sound inadequate."

But Edgeworth was already rifling through a filing cabinet, pulling out a manila folder of his own. "You just require a push in the right direction." He studied his folder when Phoenix muttered to himself as he left, only peering up as the door closed behind him.

Edgeworth leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingertips. He'd already decided the murders were supernatural in origin—It was the only logical solution. If he'd never personally witnessed Maya Fey's channeling, he would have immediately dismissed the prospect. But was that solution taking the easy way out? Would a spirit medium have such a grudge on criminals? They were often hidden away in their villages, shielded from the outside world. Edgeworth had immediately ruled out the Fey clan, but could the killer be someone similar? Someone whose powers were even greater than those who could contact the dead?

Edgeworth smirked. If Wright didn't take advantage of his connections, he was a bigger fool than he thought.

He grumbled when there was another knock on his door. "Can I _ever_ get some work done here?" Edgeworth strode to the door, throwing it open, expecting Gumshoe or Wright or any other idiot standing there waiting to bother him, but instead he was staring over the head of the office intern. He looked down at her. _"Yes?"_

"I- I was told to give this to you, Mr. Edgeworth, sir," she said, holding out the newspaper. "Urgent news from Tokyo."

"Thank you." He accepted the paper and closed the door, despite the girl's obvious waiting for some response. The front page was littered with news about the mysterious heart attack murders, not that that was anything new. He flipped to page two.

"_Kira_," he said, skimming the article. "So they gave him a name. Not a very original one, but journalists aren't known for creativity." He settled on the office couch, crossing a leg over his knee to flip open up the paper. So it was official—the heart attacks _were_ murders, and this Kira was the one behind it. Then his eyes went wide: The Japanese police were on the case, but the head of investigation was going to be—

The office door swung open—without the preface of a knock—and Edgeworth whacked the newspaper onto the couch. "Gumshoe!" He shouted, as the detective burst in. "Learn how to knock!"

"Sir, you've gotta see this! Come to the conference room!" But before he could question the detective, he was gone.

"What is the meaning of this?" Edgeworth asked as he strode into the conference room, but was greeted by a communal _shush_. Police and prosecutors were crowded around the flat-panel TV, which showed only an elaborately-scripted _L_.

"_Kira . . ."_ The voice was garbled, but a hint of surprise was discernible behind it._ "It seems you can kill people without having to be there in person."_

"What is—"

"Shh!" The entire room of law enforcers shushed Edgeworth before he could ask. But the answer was obvious—this was a showdown: one between this killer, this Kira, and . . .

"_L is real. I do exist. Now, try to kill me!"_

The room fell silent. They listened to L's taunting and his jabs, to his demand that Kira murder him. Edgeworth tugged at his cravat, sweat trickling down his throat as he waited for that synthetic voice to cut off.

There was a pause in the broadcast and then . . .

"_Well, Kira. It seems that you can't kill me after all."_

Edgeworth released an audible sigh, raking a hand through his prematurely-grey hair. A murmur arose in the conference room but he could only watched the television in silent awe, praying that something would appear besides that old English-style L, but it only returned to the mundane news broadcast.

"Edgeworth? Sir?" Edgeworth hardly heard Gumshoe as he hovered. He scanned the conference room, watching as everyone trickled back to work. His eyes locked on Mikami, who still stared at the television screen in wonder. Yes, of course he would understand. He was a firm believer in justice as well. But rather than approach the rookie, he turned away.

"I must prepare for my case," he replied coldly, when Gumshoe tried to follow. "I cannot be disturbed."

"But sir," he said, trailing Edgeworth to his office, "do you know what this means? The world's greatest detective is on this case! Even greater than me! Wow, it's like—"

"Yes, I am aware, detective," Edgeworth said as he reached his door. "But there is still work to be done." And he disappeared within his office.

He locked the door and hurried back to the couch for the newspaper. It was old news now; the Internet and tomorrow's papers would be filled with this showdown between L and Kira. Frustrated, he flung the paper to the coffee table and relocated to his desk. He despised using the Internet for his news, but Kira worked so rapidly that it was the only reliable source.

A search for _Kira_ already provided thousands of results. He grunted in disgust as he opened page after page of Kira-worshipping fan sites. He returned to the search bar, his fingers hovering over the keyboard like he was about to unlock a dark secret.

Just the thought of it made him sweat. But how could one search for a single letter? What could one possibly learn of the world's greatest detective from _the Internet_? Regardless, he plugged in the letter to search. To his surprise, the first several results were exactly the man he was looking for—and the news headlines were already filled with that single gothic _L_, the same one he had witnessed on the television screen.

But there wasn't much to read. There was no information besides what everyone already knew: He didn't show his face. He had solved innumerable unsolvable cases.

Edgeworth grit his teeth. How old was he? How long had he been working? What was his education?

He pounded his fist on the desktop, causing the laptop to rattle. He was a _prosecutor_! Why was he scrabbling around on the Internet for information on a _detective_?

His phone rang.

"Miles Edgeworth," he answered, fighting to keep his composure.

"Mr. Edgeworth, sir!" It was some high-strung bailiff whose name he could never remember. "Your witness is here!"

"_Now?"_ He sighed. "Very well." Leave it to a witness to be _early_ for a change, today of all days. He cleared his browser history—no one needed to see how many Kira-worshipping sites he had seen, even if there was little chance anyone would use his laptop—and shut down, gathering his folder for the next case.


	3. Chapter 3

_The Defense_

* * *

><p>As planned, Maya remained at the office while Phoenix visited the mysterious client. As he approached the client's front door, he couldn't determine whether his shiver was from Maya's weird vibes or paranoia. He rang the doorbell, then heard the shuffle of feet within. There was a pause—the client likely peered through the door's peephole—before the door barely cracked open. "Come in," the client said, and slammed the door when his attorney squeezed inside.<p>

It took Phoenix a moment to adjust to the darkness. All the shades inside were drawn, which cast the house in an eerie glow. A chill seeped into his bones, as if he had entered a crypt. The client was at least decently dressed—his dark jeans and black T-shirt matched the oversized Elvis shades hiding his eyes. Phoneix followed down a dank hallway to the living room.

"Mr. Br—"

"Hey!" The client glanced over his shoulder. "We don't use names here, remember?"

Phoenix recoiled, quickly nodding. "Yes, of course. I'd forgotten."

The client sat cross-legged in the center of the love seat, motioning for Phoenix to take a nearby armchair. At least he didn't offer that they sit on the same couch, but it was more unnerving to sit across from each other. Even from behind the sunglasses, his stare bore into him.

"How can I help you?" Phoenix asked.

"I want to make sure my name is clear," the client replied.

Phoenix waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. "I'll have to get some more details," he said. "What have you been accused of?" But as he spoke, he started to realize how much sense the situation didn't make—if he had been convicted of anything, why was he at home and not in jail?

"Nothing," he said with a casual shrug. "And I want to keep it that way."

Phoenix frowned. "I . . . don't think I understand. I do all I can to protect my clients, but if you haven't been convicted of anything—"

"There's a detective on this job."

Phoenix was already weary of his vague proclamations. "A detective?"

Without a word, the client shuffled into the kitchen and was heard rummaging through some papers. Phoenix wondered if he should follow, but the man soon reemerged with a newspaper and dropped it in his lap. On the front page was little more than a single letter: _L_. He wanted to read the enclosed article but the client had already sat back down, staring at him through his sunglasses.

Phoenix swallowed hard, his heart pounding. "Y-Yes, o-of course."

"I don't trust him."

The irony was almost laughable. Phoenix couldn't stop himself from asking, "Is it because he doesn't show his face?"

The client snarled. "He's nothing like me. _I_ have reasons not to go out there. _He_ is just a coward. I trust _you_, Mr. Lawyer. You're the one who's come to talk to me, man to man. You believed in your clients' innocence before this _L _figured out it was some kind of voodoo magic. I want you to investigate these victims." He produced a piece of folded paper from his pocket and thrust it toward Phoenix, who reluctantly accepted. His head was swimming—he _hadn't_ read the news; he had no idea what the man was talking about, but he tried to keep calm. "See what you can find. I'll make sure you're adequately compensated."

That meant _money_, and that was something Phoenix was lacking. He unfolded the paper, which contained only a list of names. Some looked familiar, being criminals he had seen on the news, and some he recognized as heart attack victims. He tucked the list into his jacket pocket.

"I'm not completely sure what you need from me," Phoenix said. "But if you haven't been accused of anything, I wish there was some way I could convince you that you don't require legal advice."

"I will be the judge of that," the client said. His smile was too wide; Phoenix shivered. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Lawyer. I'll be in touch."

When he made no motion to get up, Phoenix nodded and let himself out. Maya had been right—the house, and the client, gave him the heebie-jeebies. He couldn't get outside fast enough; the sunshine was a warm welcome after his brief visit.

But he was stuck. It wasn't his job to investigate dead-ends; he had become useless in this whole investigation. L was on it, and L didn't need anyone. As Phoenix hurried back to the office, he wondered if Edgeworth knew about the detective on duty. He considered stopping by the prosecutor's office, but opted against it. He had just been there, and—

It came to him in a flash: _You have better access to alternative means of investigation_.

He had to get to Maya, right now. There was only one way he could be dismissed from this case, and it included something only Maya—and the women of her family—were capable of.

* * *

><p>"You want me to do <em>what<em>?"

"Come on, Maya. It'll help us out! And we can get rid of the creepy client. _Please_?"

Maya sat at Phoenix's desk, which was littered with take-out burger wrappers and Steel Samurai cards. She huffed, crossing her arms. "Why can't I do it _here_? Why do I have to go to that house? You can record me or something! And then show him later!"

He shook his head. "This is the only way it can work—you _have_ to summon one of these people." He waved the list of victims at her. "Or two of them. Or however many it takes for the client to believe there's no way he can be accused of these killings. And he has to be right there. He might have questions. I can't answer those."

Maya pouted, but he had a point—if the client could hear from the heart attack victims himself, he could _maybe_ understand that he had nothing to do with it. And _maybe_ he would release Nick of his questionable duties.

"I'll buy you a burger afterward," he said in a sing-songy voice.

"Nick, I'm offended! I can't be bought for a _burger_." She sat up straight. "Make it a _month's _worth of burgers."

"A _month_?" He banged his head on the desk.

"_Fine_, a week. Lunch _and _dinner. That's my final offer."

Phoenix leaned over the desk to hug her tight; she gasped for breath and tried to wiggle free. "Thank you, thank you, thank you. You're a life saver, Maya."

* * *

><p>His role as burger-provider began that night. As they walked to the burger joint, Phoenix felt for the thin wallet in his pocket. He couldn't back out of his promise until <em>after<em> Maya had visited the client, but his funds were quickly depleting.

"Nick?"

He still wasn't convinced that spirit channeling was the answer, but it was the only thing he could think of. The client hadn't been _accused_ of anything—and the client knew it—but that list of names was expansive, and if he believed there was even a chance that—

"_Nick!_" Maya tugged harder on his sleeve, breaking him out of his reverie.

"What is it?! What's wrong?"

"Look, Nick!" she said, nearly pulling the sleeve off his jacket. "Isn't that Misa-Misa?"

Though the name meant nothing, he still looked around frantically. "Who?"

"Nick! Get with the times!" Maya clung to his sleeve and bounced as they walked. "Misa-Misa is Japan's biggest up-and-coming model!"

"How can you be 'big' if you're up-and—"

"Let's go talk to her!"

"What? No, Maya, I'm sure she's on her way to some—"

But she broke away, rushing up the sidewalk to approach the petite blonde. Maya called out to her, causing the model to turn and flash a smile. Phoenix couldn't hear their conversation as he jogged to catch up.

"I'm your biggest fan!" Maya was saying.

"You're so nice!" Misa-Misa squealed, clapping her hands. "Do you want an autograph? I always give autographs to Misa-Misa fans!"

"Hmm . . ." Maya patted down her costume, as if there was any chance she had something on her, despite the lack of pockets. "Nick, give me something for Misa-Misa to sign."

"What?" But he was already peeling off his backpack. "I don't have anything."

"I'll give one to you, too," Misa-Misa said with a wink, "if you're good."

"Me?" Phoenix blushed. "Aw, thanks . . ."

Maya was rummaging through the backpack, nearly sticking her head inside in her search. "Ah! Here we go!" She pulled out an empty file folder. "It's the best I can do."

Phoenix frowned. "There _were_ files in that . . ."

"Perfect!" Misa-Misa produced a pen, asking how to spell Maya's name (_It's not that hard_, Phoenix thought) and scribbled on folder. "And what's your friend's name?" she said, batting her eyes at Phoenix.

"Uhh . . . Nick," he replied, internally sighing. He had to admit, her pep was infectious.

"Here you go!" She held out the folder, but immediately pulled it back. "Wait!" She opened it up again, hunching over slightly as she wrote. "Misa-Misa is having a concert next week, and you should both come! You can be my special guests. If you call my manager and tell him Misa-Misa sent you, you can get discount tickets!"

"Wow!" Maya hugged the folder to her chest. "Thank you, Misa-Misa!"

"No problem!" She bounced on her toes, causing her skirt to flounce around her. "Anything for my biggest fans!" She flashed a peace sign and grinned, then bounded down the sidewalk.

"She's so cool," Maya swooned, as they watched her skip away. "Let's go to the concert! Discount tickets, Nick!"

It was pointless to argue; Maya was already reading the manager's number from the folder. Well, at least it was a Friday night, and Misa-Misa _was_ cute—she'd probably put on a good show. He briefly pictured Edgeworth at the concert, and choked on the laugh in his throat. Maybe he could talk Maya into asking him, too. She didn't say there was any ticket limit . . .

"Oh no, Nick!" Maya pouted.

"What?" His heart lurched at her down-trodden face. "What is it?!"

Her shoulders slumped. "I didn't get her picture! I could've had a photo with Misa-Misa!"

* * *

><p><em>L<em>

* * *

><p>It was all over the papers.<p>

_Epic Showdown Between L and Kira_

_Lind L. Tailor Front for Mysterious Detective_

_Crime Rates Decrease by 20%_

L tossed the newspapers aside, bored of his name plastered all over them. But there was one that caught his eye, a tabloid that Watari had stuck in the middle of the pile. _Why would he include a thing like that?_ L thought, picking up the paper between two fingers, as if its filthy content soiled its pages.

This cover, surprisingly, had nothing to do with him: _Cursed Lawyer Takes Mysterious Client! _Curiously, he turned to the featured article on page two.

_"Phoenix Wright has been winning cases left and right since his courtroom debut. He has gone up against the most vicious prosecutors, proving his clients' innocence when it seemed all hope was lost. But lately, his trials have ended in failure. Not because they were found guilty, but because they continued to die."_

L's eyes widened in surprise. He glanced at the lawyer's photograph. He was normal enough—not overly flashy, like the prosecutors in this country. L skimmed through to the interesting parts.

_"On the record, the Wright & Co. Law Offices have been silent. No clients have entered its doors, but Wright himself has been keeping busy. He has been seen entering homes of Kira's victims alongside his assistant, Maya Fey."_

"Fey?" L nibbled on his thumbnail. Where had he heard that name before?

_"But Wright has been _working_, and it's been suggested that he does have a client: One whose name has not been released. Who is this mysterious client, and what is his connection to Kira? Could Wright have finally found someone whose name he cannot clear?"_

L perked up. "_Fey!_ Of course." He tossed the paper aside, turning to his computer files. "Misty Fey, spirit medium. Hmm." He scrolled through her biography. "An unfortunate history. Could this be her successor? A daughter?" L sat back, tilting his head as he stared at the screen. "What is her connection to this lawyer?"

But Watari did not share this newspaper because of the spirit medium: It was the client that piqued his interest. The tabloid was the only documentation that Wright had taken a client, but he could not deny its validity. If his clients were consistently dying—of heart attacks, he could only guess—Wright was smart not to reveal his name. But ever since the broadcast, the world knew who was behind the heart attacks: _Kira_. And Kira was smarter than to seek legal counsel. No, not smart: Arrogant. He was a man who thought he would never get caught.

His computer _blipp_ed, and Watari's silhouette appeared on-screen. It was time to talk with the newly-elected Task Force. L pushed the papers aside as he accepted the call.


	4. Chapter 4

_Kira_

* * *

><p>"<em>Tabloids?"<em> Light Yagami sighed, leaning back in the dining room chair. "Sayu, you can't be serious."

"But look at this!" His sister leaned over the table and shoved the paper in his face, forcing him to lean back farther to see it straight. "This poor lawyer! It's like Kira is targeting him! _I_ think he's smart for hiding his client's name."

Light speared a potato wedge, then chewed slowly as he scanned the article. _This guy again_. "But what if his client is Kira? That would explain why he won't show his face."

"Nuh-uh," Sayu said. "He wouldn't. His clients are always innocent! It says so right here!"

Light ignored the shadow cast over the paper—the one only he could see—as Ryuk hovered overhead, reading the article. "You sure you don't want to kill this guy?" the shinigami asked.

Light cast the paper aside and took up his silverware again.

Sayu was in disbelief when Light announced he had a study session after dinner, but his mother reminded her yet again how important it was that he keep up with his schoolwork. Light glanced at the tabloid as he cleared the dinner table. "Mind if I take this?" he asked, and Sayu laughed.

"You were making fun of me before!"

A smirk crossed his lips. "I think my friends will get a kick out of it."

He shoved the paper in his backpack before heading outside, turning in the direction of the Wright & Co. Law Offices. He peeked at the tabloid to confirm the address, which was stupidly printed in the article.

Ryuk drifted nearby, invisible to all who passed; Light seethed with jealousy. Already, the shinigami was getting on his nerves. "You don't have any friends who live over here," Ryuk said, as they passed out of the residential area. "Where are we going? Are you going to buy me some apples?"

"Maybe later," he said, as they approached the building. It was mostly dark, being after working hours, but a few windows in the upper floors were illuminated.

Light had anticipated making up an excuse for his visit to security, but no one sat at the desk. By the looks of it, no one had sat at that desk for some time—there were no computers and no sign-in book; the elevator bank was open and an ID card was unnecessary. "This is my lucky night," he said, scanning the directory posted on the wall. Ryuk was already pressing the button to call the elevator, watching the numbers illuminate on a side display as a car came down to the lobby.

He couldn't know for sure whether the lawyer would be in his office, but he knew that lawyers in general kept late hours. Besides, shouldn't they always be available for clients? Light stepped into the elevator, Ryuk close behind, and hit the button for the tenth floor. The car slowly crawled upward.

"This isn't any fun," Ryuk said, poking his head through the ceiling of the car.

"It's an _elevator_," Light replied with a sigh. When the door opened, they were greeted by a gray hallway lined with closed doors, all expect one—the Wright & Co. Law Offices, at the end of the hall, were open for business.

Light straightened his collar and knocked on the door tentatively, poking his head inside. "Hello?"

The lights were on, but no one was in clear view. Then, a girl came from the back who was wearing . . . was that a bathrobe? "Hi there!" she said, nodding in a quick, informal bow. "Welcome to the Wright & Co. Law Offices! I'm Maya Fey, Mr. Wright's assistant."

The lawyer himself was right behind her, still throwing on his suit jacket as he came into view of a "potential client." He looked nothing like his photograph in the paper, which had almost looked calm and professional. Light waited to see if he would even button his jacket on straight.

"I'm sorry about the late hour," he said, focusing back on the assistant.

"No trouble at all!" Maya replied. "Would you like some tea? I'll go make some." And she disappeared before he could confirm whether he wanted it or not.

"Phoenix Wright, attorney at law," the lawyer said, after he had finally buttoned his jacket—straight, Light was relieved to notice—and came to shake his hand. "What can I help you with?"

"I, uh . . ." he laughed nervously, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Hello, sir. My name is Light. I was hoping I could ask you some questions? Maybe get some advice? I'm kind of scared about . . . you know"—he lowered his voice—"Kira."

Ryuk chuckled.

Phoenix nodded, though the disappointment of _not_ having a proper client was all over his face. But he motioned to a small seating area with two couches, a table set between them. "Of course. Please, let's sit." Light waited for Phoenix to sit before settling on the other couch, right on the center cushion, with his hands folded in his lap. The table held an empty tea cup and a couple magazines (was that _Eighteen_ _Magazine_? Light hoped it belonged to his little assistant, not the lawyer himself). Maya reappeared with a tray of tea, pouring a cup for each of them before sitting down beside Phoenix. _Is she even a lawyer? _Light thought, taking a sip from his cup.

"You understand that I'm just a student, so I'm not in danger of Kira or anything," he said, intentionally rattling his teacup from faked nerves as he set it on the table. "But I heard all about your clients, and I'm really sorry about them." Phoenix sulked, clearly upset over their deaths. Light continued. "I just want myself and my family to be safe. Do you know anything about this Kira? How does he kill people? My father works in law enforcement, so you understand that I'm nervous."

"Really?" Maya sat up straighter—if that were possible—splashing a little bit of tea on her lap. "Who's your dad?"

_Crap. She's too nosy._ "I'd rather not say," he whispered. "You never know if _he_ is listening."

Phoenix slowly set down his tea. It was clear that he was trying to act calm in front of this nervous student, and it took all of Light's composure not to laugh—especially with the shinigami hovering, chuckling each time Light spoke. _I told you this would be interesting, Ryuk_.

"You're safe here, Light," Phoenix said, and Maya nodded enthusiastically in agreement. "We don't know _how_ Kira is murdering people yet, but we know that he's only targeting criminals. You and your family will be safe."

_Is this the best our justice system can come up with?_ Light thought. But he continued to maintain his nervous act, picking at his nails and fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

"And the best detective is on the case," Phoenix continued, as if he was associated with the faceless detective at all. "We trust L. Kira will not be a threat to us much longer."

_Are you sure about that, Phoenix Wright?_

"L?" Light said, reaching again for his tea. "Is he the one who was just on television? But he doesn't show his face."

"That's why he's perfect!" Maya said. _Why won't this girl shut up?_ "So far, Kira has only killed people who have shown up on TV or in the news. No one even knows what L looks like, so he'll be safe."

Light sighed. "Well, that's a relief."

Ryuk continued disappearing into the back room, and Light tried not to visually follow him. Maybe the shinigami would prove useful—maybe there was something in the office he would find interesting. After Light's second cup of tea, he rose and waited for the lawyer to hastily follow suit before shaking his hand. "Thank you for speaking with me, sir," Light said. "I'm sorry I stayed so long. I can compensate you for your time, if you would like."

"Not at all, not at all!" Phoenix said, walking him to the door. "I know it's scary out there right now, and I'm glad to help. Please come by anytime."

Light bowed, holding it a little longer than necessary. The lawyer hesitated, then quickly bowed in response as Light stood straight. He thanked him again, profusely, before heading down the hallway and into the elevator. It wasn't until Light was outside, walking away from the building, that he allowed himself to smile.

* * *

><p><em>The Defense<em>

* * *

><p>Maya had rushed to the window to watch the student walk away. He seemed a lot better than when he first came in—he walked more casually, and it almost looked like he was talking or singing to himself. She watched until he turned the corner, out of sight.<p>

"He was so nice!" she gushed, turning to clean up the tea. Phoenix had resettled on the couch, flipping through the newest issue of _Eighteen_. "I feel really bad for him. It must be hard to have a dad who's a police officer, especially now."

Phoenix's head shot up. "And it's not hard being a lawyer?!"

"But you're used to this!" she said, holding tight to the tea tray. "He's just a kid!"

"I think you're the same age, Maya." Phoenix mindlessly flipped through the magazine. "Hey, look, it's that model we ran into." He held up the article; Maya nearly dropped the tray in excitement as she grabbed for the magazine.

Typically Phoenix would _not_ have been in the office at that hour, especially if he wasn't preparing for court the following day. Despite Maya's bubbly exterior when Light had appeared, they had been discussing the channeling that would occur the next day. And the more Maya thought about it, the more nervous she was.

She hadn't yet completed her training, so calling up several spirits in one day would be difficult—especially in front of the client who still made her nervous. She had agreed, of course, in order to help Phoenix, and they had compiled a list of spirits she would channel—but not without researching them first, to make sure they weren't _really_ bad criminals.

When they closed down the office, Maya insisted on staying at Phoenix's apartment that night. She claimed it would make it easier when they went out in the morning, but he knew she simply didn't want to be alone. He _did_ have a futon in the living room for a reason; it was her home away from home.

After Maya had settled down, fast asleep, Phoenix huddled under the covers with his laptop to keep up with the latest on Kira. He was slightly disappointed that he didn't have access to the investigation's files, even being a lawyer, but detectives were always secretive about their big cases—and L especially.

He couldn't remember falling asleep, but he woke to the sound of clanging in the kitchenette and a warm laptop under his cheek. He rolled over with a groan, squinting into the early-morning sunlight. The smell of pancakes wafted into his bedroom, which was motivation enough to get out of bed.

"Good morning, Nick!" Maya said, donning his apron with a spatula in hand. "Sit down and have some breakfast."

He certainly wasn't going to argue with pancakes, but he _did_ protest when she set a toppling stack before him. "I can't eat all this!" he exclaimed, as she poured syrup over his plate.

* * *

><p>Hours later, griping over a full stomach, Phoenix trudged to the client's house with Maya in tow. Ordinarily she'd be trotting beside him, talking his ear off, but instead she watched the sidewalk as they approached the house. Now, ringing the doorbell, she stood as close to him as possible without touching. He could feel her radiating heat through his suit jacket as the front door cracked open. He glanced at her, waiting for her approval, and she nodded before they slipped inside.<p>

"You wanted to see me?" the client asked. He stood the center of the foyer, blocking their path, in the same dark clothing and mirrored sunglasses.

"I'd like you to meet someone," Phoenix said. They had agreed not to reveal any connection between them—it made Maya feel safer. "She's a spirit medium. We're going to summon some of the heart attack victims, and I hope this will help you understand that you're not responsible for their deaths."

The client stood silent a moment, stroking his jaw. Phoenix would have liked to discuss this option with him over the phone, but he would only discuss anything related to "his case" in person. Eventually he nodded. "Very well. I've never seen a channeling in person." Even with the sunglasses, it was obvious that he was staring at Maya as he spoke. "What do you need from me?"

"Nothing at all!" Maya chirped. "I have everything right here." She patted Phoenix's backpack. "But I was hoping maybe you have a room without windows? They can be distracting. Or if there's a curtain covering them, that's okay."

The client led them down the hall and descended a staircase to the basement. Phoenix knew that Maya was accustomed to the channeling chamber at Kurain; the client's dark basement was a poor substitute. At least it was clean—obsessively clean, considering it was a basement—and they were lead to an empty spot on the floor. There wasn't a speck of dirt, Phoenix noticed, as Maya rolled out a travel-size tatami mat and began to set up the candles.

"Ready?" she asked, slipping off her shoes before kneeling on the mat. Phoenix was surprised to see that the client had removed his sneakers as well, without being asked, before joining them on the small mat.

Phoenix fished a piece of scrap paper from his pants pocket. "These are the victims we plan to channel," he said, handing the list to the client. "We didn't want to call anyone who might be too dangerous."

The client's eyebrows raised over the edge of his sunglasses. "That is fine." He hardly looked at the list before handing it back.

To both Phoenix's and Maya's surprise, the client removed his Elvis shades and carefully folded them into his breast pocket. Maya clenched her fists and held down a gasp as he looked up. Phoenix didn't notice anything amiss, but Maya had difficulty keeping eye contact, smiling too wide as she double-checked her set-up.

"Is everything all right?" the client asked.

"Yes!" she replied, too enthusiastically. "Let's begin." Finally, she folded her hands and bowed her head, and they both mirrored her actions. Phoenix was tempted to peek at the client, but he knew any movement at all would be a distraction. He prayed that the client would stay in place and not try anything funny.

"_Kira."_ Phoenix's eyes shot open. Maya was looking at the client evenly, her expression cold and indifferent. He still wasn't used to how her body changed when channeling; now she looked much older, her face leathery and wrinkled, and _masculine_. The client, whose head was still lowered, peered up at her. Maya—or, rather, the victim—tilted her head. "Why'd you call me back?"

"You don't remember me," the client said, staring in awe at her changed appearance. Maya stared, eyes cold and blank. "You're a fool." He laughed, lifting his head higher. "Of course you remember me. I tried to kill you." He glanced at Phoenix and then quickly added, "in self-defense."

Phoenix wouldn't speak during the channeling, but the client had mentioned attempted murder so casually. He wanted to leave, this instant, but not while Maya was in this state. He didn't know what would happen if he tried to get her back, but he knew it wouldn't end well.

"Yes, you," Maya said, her voice deep and even. "Yer nothing compared to Kira."

"How did he do it?!" Phoenix blurted, much to the client's annoyance.

Maya turned toward him. "Who the hell are you?"

"Over here," the client said, nudging Maya's chin with one finger so she faced him again. Phoenix gritted his teeth. "Answer him. How did you die?"

"Heart attack," Maya replied. "I shoulda been safe. Only murderers were killed by Kira. Why'd he care about my petty theft? Even the law wasn't going to kill me over that."

"But . . ." The client was getting agitated. Phoenix had only seen him calm and collected, and it rattled him to see the man getting worked up. He wasn't in control of the conversation, and he didn't like it. "Did you see him? How did he do it?"

Maya shrugged. "Dunno. I was at home eatin' my dinner and _bam_. No warning."

The client leaned toward Maya. "Where are you? Is there anyone else there who would know?"

Maya emitted a deep, throaty laugh. "Anyone else? I don't get to see anyone else where I am. Quit wastin' my time." Then he was gone; Maya leaned forward with her palms on the tatami, gasping for breath. As Phoenix placed a hand on her back, the client stared wide-eyed as Maya's appearance quickly changed back to normal. Phoenix had to admit, it was alarming when he'd first seen it, too.

"Let's take a break," Phoenix said, sitting back on his heels. But the client didn't say anything. He was still staring at Maya, even as she regained her composure. She smiled at him, though he didn't return the gesture.

"I know I didn't do it," the client said.

"What?!" Phoenix and Maya cried in unison.

He looked back and forth between them both, slowly, his eyes boring into theirs. "Well, you heard the guy. No one was around, right? You don't have to waste your time calling all these people. That was enough."

Phoenix was unconvinced, but didn't want to call him out. He knew how draining it was for Maya to channel, so she was probably relieved that she didn't have to continue. But . . .

"You tried to kill him?" Phoenix asked.

The client raised a shoulder in a half-shrug. "Self-defense, right? Obviously the guy was a criminal, otherwise Kira wouldn't have killed him. Don't believe that 'petty theft' bullshit."

"But you've killed before?" Maya asked, her voice small.

He didn't answer. He removed the glasses from his pocket and fiddled with the arms before pushing them back onto his face. "I've hired you for this job," he said evenly. "My past mistakes have no correlation to this investigation."

Phoenix pulled his sneakers back on, blowing out the nearest candles so they were engulfed in a semi-darkness. "If you wish to conduct an investigation, Mr. Bri—"

"Hey!" He waved his hands wildly. "No names!"

Phoenix let in a breath, waited a beat, then slowly released it. "Fine. If you want to conduct an investigation, then you should hire a private investigator. I'm a lawyer, and if you haven't been accused of anything, then I can't help you." He rose, gathering the extinguished candles into his backpack, the wax still soft and dripping over his hands.

Maya hadn't moved yet. She bit down on her lower lip and stared at the client, her eyes wandering. Phoenix wished they would move; he wanted to roll up the tatami mat and get out of there.

"But if I _am_ accused of something," the client said, finally rising and stepping off the mat, "then you would represent me?"

"We can't," Maya said softly, before Phoenix could reply. "We serve to protect the innocent, and you are not innocent."

The client crossed his arms. "You are dismissed, then, Maya Fey." He smirked, then bounded up the stairs.

Phoenix started to roll up the mat but Maya remained unmoving, even when the roll approached her knees. "Maya? What is it?"

"I . . . we never told him my name."

Phoenix sat back. It wasn't impossible for the client to have figured out her identity—there weren't many spirit mediums, and even less who were associated with Phoenix Wright—but the way Maya stared blankly at the staircase told him that this was something more than simply a man who read the papers. He reached for her shoulder but she quickly scurried off the mat, grabbing it from him to finish rolling it up. She was running up the stairs before he had a chance to follow.


	5. Chapter 5

_The Prosecution_

* * *

><p>There wasn't anything he could do. Edgeworth went about his days gathering evidence, going to court, and putting criminals in jail. But beneath it all, there was the underlying desire to know what was going on—to know what L was doing, and learn of his progress with the Kira investigation.<p>

He didn't even know where they were meeting, since the Task Forced had been moved from police headquarters and cut off from all communication. The detectives working on the case were unofficially off payroll, but he had no doubt that L was paying them out of his own pocket.

He smirked. _Gumshoe wouldn't mind a salary like that._

He kept up with the news best he could, both on television and in the office. But the office knew as much as the public did, which was nothing. It was pathetic. Edgeworth sat at his desk, scrolling through another day's worth of heart attack victims, when his cell phone rang. He didn't recognize the number, but it was local.

"Miles Edgeworth." He leaned back slightly in his chair.

"Ah, Mr. Edgeworth? H-hi, this is Touta Matsuda at Task Force headquarters."

Edgeworth massaged the bridge of his nose. The excitement of being contacted by the Task Force was overshadowed by _him_ being the one who called. "Yes, what is it?"

"We were hoping for your expertise," Matsuda said. Even over the phone, Edgeworth could tell that he was sweating. "Th-that is, Ryuzaki asked me to—"

"_Who?"_

But as Matsuda was trying to explain, he suddenly sounded distant, like the phone had been yanked from his hands. "Miles Edgeworth," a new voice said, one that sounded more in-control, yet bored. "This is L."

Edgeworth fell backward in his chair, arms and legs flailing as his head knocked into the tea set on his windowsill. The teapot clattered to the floor—it was empty, thankfully—though his head shattered one of its matching teacup. All the while, however, the phone remained attached to his ear as if for dear life.

"Mr. Edgeworth?" L said. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes," he replied, hastily picking up his chair. "My apologies."

"Good. I have a request of you."

Edgeworth sat down slowly, gripping the phone in a trembling hand. _He's going to ask me to join the task force_, he thought. _He needs my expertise._

"Your friend the attorney," L said. "Phoenix Wright, is it?"

"Yes." Edgeworth slumped in his chair. "What of him?"

"He has a client I am very interested in. Has he spoken to you of him at all?"

Edgeworth thought back to that brief time Wright was sitting across from him, blabbering about his client. He could only assume it was the same one. "He hasn't said much, sir. I'm afraid I don't know anything."

"Oh." L sounded deflated. "That's too bad."

"With all due respect," he added hurriedly, "why don't you ask Wright yourself? I can give you his personal phone number."

"That won't be necessary. I had hoped to gather information from _you_, Miles Edgeworth."

"I can talk to him," he said, forcing to keep his voice at a normal volume. He could sense how desperate he sounded, but he wasn't ready to hang up the phone. "He will confide in me if I ask. I'll get whatever information necessary to solve this case. Not that you need _my_ help, of course." He squeezed his eyes shut. _Idiot_.

"That would be appreciated," L said, slightly amused. "You may call Matsuda if any new information is available. Thank you for your help."

Then he was gone.

It took all his self-control not to call Wright at that moment. Edgeworth closed his eyes, breathed in deeply, then spun around to clean up the mess that was his tea set. He scooped the shattered teacup into the trash. One stray teacup was worth the price of talking to L.

He _would_ learn something about this client. Not only for L, but he was intrigued now himself. Maybe it was time to visit to the Wright & Co. Law Offices.

* * *

><p>It was the most pathetic excuse for an office Edgeworth had ever seen. And they weren't even <em>there<em>, but the office had been unlocked so he let himself in. A sign had been affixed to the door that claimed he would return by two o'clock, but it was nearing two thirty. Edgeworth tried the door to the back office which, to his relief, was locked, meaning anyone off the street couldn't rummage through Wright's files. The coffee table held one empty mug—coffee dregs were stuck to the bottom, as if it had been sitting there all night—and a couple magazines that no respectable attorney would ever read.

"_Eighteen_?" Edgeworth said, flipping through the pages. One in particular was dog-eared to an article on Misa-Misa. "Ridiculous," he muttered, sitting back on the couch and staring out the window. Not much of a view, either. In fact, he could see clear across the street and into the window of a hotel room. A maid was busy making the bed.

"Mr. Edgeworth!" He recognized Maya Fey's voice right away, even before he turned. She smiled, but didn't appear to be her usual peppy self. Wright paused briefly at the door; the shock of seeing Edgeworth in his office was painfully obviously. The scent of barbecue wafted over as Maya sat on the couch opposite. "What are you doing here?"

"I have some questions," Edgeworth replied. "But more important, are you all right?"

Maya's smile fell, and she stared into her lap. "I'm okay," she said, though he was unconvinced. She quickly stood again, grabbing the dirty mug and heading toward the back office. "I'll make us some tea." When the door didn't open, she huffed at Wright and waited for him to unlock it.

"Wright," Edgeworth said with a sigh. "Close the door."

He couldn't be certain whether he was truly following his command, or if Wright had planned to shut the office, anyway. He had removed the "be right back" sign before closing—and locking—the door.

"What is all this?" Edgeworth asked, as Wright fell into the other couch. "What's wrong with Maya?"

"It's been a long day," he answered vaguely. They sat in silence, neither offering further details. Eventually Phoenix sat up straight and asked, "Why are _you_ here?"

He couldn't just come out and say he had received a phone call from L. He had been _dying_ to reveal details of the call when they'd hung up. Even though L hadn't specifically forbidden him from mentioning it, it felt like a secret between them. L was trusting him. "You haven't been working," Edgeworth replied. "I hope these former clients of yours haven't affected your work ethic."

Phoenix rubbed the back of his head with both hands, then pulled on his hair at the roots. "You came all the way here to ask about my _work ethic_? I'm working!"

Maya had returned with the tea tray, setting it down on the coffee table. Edgeworth hadn't failed to notice it only held two cups. "You haven't been in court, and you haven't been sticking your nose into any crime scenes. So what _have_ you been doing?" Maya disappeared again into the back room; Phoenix had watched her, as if he hoped she would stay. Like he needed her permission to answer his questions.

"I told you," Phoenix replied. "I have a client. I can't give you details."

Edgeworth bent over the coffee table, feeling the heat of the small teapot on his throat. "Who is it?" Phoenix shook his head, and Edgeworth leaned in closer. "Is it Kira?"

"I don't _know_!" Phoenix cried. "He knew Maya's name, Edgeworth. We went to see him, and he knew her name. We didn't even tell him who she was."

Edgeworth calmly poured them each a cup of tea. Lavender, he noticed; suitable for calming anxiety. He pushed a cup toward Wright, who accepted it as he sat up, holding the warm cup in both hands.

"That's not unusual," he replied. "It's public knowledge that Maya Fey assists you."

"It's more than that," Phoenix said. "I know it is." He held the cup to his nose to inhale the lavender scent. "I made it clear that I wouldn't represent him. He's not an innocent man, Edgeworth. But I don't know what to do about this guy. He rattled Maya; I had to buy her three burgers for lunch."

Despite his claim not to offer details, he spilled everything about their visit to the client, omitting nothing. Edgeworth didn't even have to ask—though he was there on a mission, he also felt obligated to listen. L's task was stored in the back of his mind as Phoenix shared a tale of cryptic conversations and spirit channeling, and he was angry that Wright hadn't contacted him to come along. Maya was still new to channeling, and she had _said_ she felt uneasy around this man, and he wanted to punch Wright in the face for even suggesting that she do such a thing.

"This man cannot be Kira," Edgeworth said, shaking his head. "Kira isn't a recluse. But whoever he is, he must be taken in for questioning. Either he is cursed, or—"

"But he's _killed_ people," Phoenix whined.

"So have half the people I am forced to communicate with daily. Will you excuse me while I make a phone call?" Without waiting for an answer, Edgeworth left for the privacy of the hallway and closed the door behind him.

Matsuda picked up on the first ring. "Mr. Edgeworth!"

"Is he there?"

"Just a moment!"

There were muffled words—a hand covered the receiver—before he heard L's voice. "Yes?"

"I know where the client lives," he said, keeping his voice low. "But I don't think it's the man you're looking for."

"No," L replied lazily, "the attorney's client is not Kira; I'm confident of that. But he is an important clue in this investigation. Good work, Mr. Edgeworth. I am pleased with how quickly you obtained this information."

"Not at all," he said hastily.

"If you learn of anything else, please do not hesitate to contact Matsuda." And then he was gone, again, without saying goodbye.

L hadn't confirmed whether he was going to the client's house or not, but Edgeworth wouldn't take any chances. Wright had stupidly told him where he lived—though he still didn't know the man's name—and if he was as important as L claimed, he had no doubt that the detective himself would be visiting soon.

But _would_ L go, knowing that Edgeworth would probably be lurking? Maybe it was a hint—maybe L _wanted _to meet him, but he couldn't say it in front of the others.

Edgeworth slipped his cell phone into his jacket pocket. It was difficult working with competent detectives.

When he returned to the office, Maya had rejoined them with a cup of tea. "Is everything okay, Mr. Edgeworth?" she asked.

"Yes. Just taking care of some business." But Wright stared curiously as he settled back on the couch, taking up his now-lukewarm tea.

"Nick and I are going to see Misa-Misa tonight," Maya said, inching closer to Edgeworth. "You should come with us!"

He raised an eyebrow, but Phoenix stared at the far wall, refusing to look at him. "I will have to pass, but thank you. There's a lot I have to get done tonight."

It was a lie, though a believable one. But he couldn't fathom spending his evening with Phoenix moping about, listening to some inane pop music. Perhaps, the next day, he would pay a visit to a certain individual that L found interesting enough to contact him about.

* * *

><p><em>L<em>

* * *

><p>He didn't often dismiss the Task Force in the middle of the afternoon. He claimed that there was nothing more they could do that day, and though it was a poor lie they had believed him anyway. There was one thing to say for working with less-intelligent people: They listened to anything, even if they disagreed.<p>

He had waited a week before visiting "the client." There was much he had to do during that time, anyway: Brush up on standardized tests and introduce himself to Light Yagami, for one.

No, the attorney's client was not Kira. Light Yagami had to be Kira; investigating this client was a more . . . personal matter. He had attempted to dismiss Watari but his handler insisted on driving him to the house. L reluctantly agreed, but they couldn't take the limousine and he had to be dropped off a block away. The last thing he wanted right now was to be showy.

Besides, there was a ninety percent chance that the prosecutor would be looking for him. L had deliberately waited to visit, in hopes he could throw him off, but Miles Edgeworth was not easily fooled. _It is a shame he did not become a detective_, L thought, as Watari drove him into the suburbs. _He would have been a useful addition to the Task Force._

"Is this a good location, Ryuzaki?" Watari asked, peering into the rearview mirror.

L looked out the window. The house was just a speck in the distance; it wouldn't be obvious that this beat-up Toyota was associated with the world-famous detective at all.

"Yes, thank you. You may wait here." L climbed out of the car, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked the remaining distance.

He felt familiar sense of foreboding the closer he got, like the house itself was encased in malevolence. But that was impossible; it was only a building. L chalked it up to actual nervousness, an emotion he didn't often feel.

But he _did_ feel a sense of paranoia that had nothing to do with the house. He glanced across the road, but saw no one; anyone could be watching from the surrounding houses. The neighborhood wasn't posh, and L's ragged appearance should have fit into the surroundings. But he stared straight ahead, approaching the house and staring at the door for several moments before knocking.

There was no answer.

All the curtains were drawn, so he couldn't peer inside. L tried the door; it was locked.

"Excuse me!" a voice called from the road. L peered over his shoulder, hoping that this person was not calling him, but knowing that wouldn't be the case.

"Oh . . ." L turned to face the pristine-looking prosecutor who had appeared on the sidewalk. "Hello, Miles Edgeworth."

Edgeworth stood, frozen, his eyes wide. "How do you know who I am?"

L tilted his head. "Of course I know your name," he replied simply. "There are many in Japan who know your identity."

The prosecutor's shoulders relaxed, but he still seemed unconvinced. It was obvious that he _wanted_ to ask who this ragged-looking man was, but his ego wouldn't allow him to admit ignorance. L, of course, would not introduce himself. Not like this, in public.

"Is there something I can help you with?" L called.

Edgeworth only shook his head. "No . . . I apologize, I thought you were someone else." And he scurried away.

L watched him bolt down the road, arms straight at his sides, and scramble into a flashy sports car. It wasn't until that car disappeared, squealing down the road, that L turned back to the house. "Now is not the time for us to meet, Mr. Edgeworth," he muttered. L retrieved a lock picking kit from his pocket and went to work on the deadbolt. He didn't bother with the doorknob; he knew that would be unlocked. It was a common practice to lock only one of them, in case someone tried to enter. But it had been offensively easy for L to slip inside, as if the client had been waiting for him.

"Hello?" L called out, clicking the door shut behind him. "I know you're here."

The silence was unnerving. He wound down the hallway to the living room; no one was present. A pair of aviator sunglasses were lying skewed on the floor, as if they had been hastily dropped. _How peculiar, _he thought, taking in the obsessive cleanliness of the rest of the room. He picked up the shades, folded them, and slipped them into the pocket of his jeans. The kitchen was his next stop.

And he _did_ stop, right at the threshold, and sighed. The client's body lay in the middle of the kitchen. Even though L knew what had happened, he still knelt to place two fingers to his throat—he was cold as ice, but not long dead. A cell phone was lying not far from him, as if he attempted to make a call before expiring. L checked the call history: The same number, over and over again, in his outgoing calls. He presumed it was the Wright & Co. Law Offices. There were no incoming calls. There was no address book.

"I am so sorry," L said, closing the corpse's eyelids and brushing the dark hair from its forehead. There were phone calls to make.

_The Prosecution_

It had to be him.

Edgeworth had circled the block three times, but the bedraggled man hadn't left the client's house yet. He had noticed the man stepping out of that shameful-looking vehicle and hadn't given him a second thought, but perked up when he stopped in front of that house. Not that Edgeworth had been _spying_ on the house from the park down the street, not exactly. It was a pleasant summer day, and the park bench with a view of the street _had_ been fairly comfortable.

It had been stupid to rush up to him right away. The man could be _anyone_—a squatter, probably—but no squatter could pick a lock that quickly. Or even _bother_ picking a lock; windows were easy enough to break into. Edgeworth finally parked his car down the street—the opposite end of the street from the Toyota—and waited for him to reappear.

To Edgeworth's surprise, an ambulance pulled into the driveway. It didn't have its lights on, which meant only one thing: The client had to be dead. He suddenly felt sorry for Wright, with all these dead clients. Edgeworth pulled up and parked across the street at the same time the beat-up Toyota eased into the driveway. Against his better judgment, he approached the house.

"Is everything all right?" he asked the elderly gentleman who stepped from the Toyota. Obviously, this vehicle was a front. The man was well-dressed in a fitted suit; Edgeworth spied a coat and fedora on the passenger's seat before he shut the door.

The gentlemen peered at him over his spectacles. "Miles Edgeworth, is it?" he said, shaking his hand. "I expected you would return."

Few things baffled Edgeworth, but he was almost lost for a reply. "Forgive me, sir, but have we met?"

Before he could confirm, two EMTs emerged from the house with a stretcher between them, a tall, thin body concealed beneath a cover. The elderly gentleman watched as they loaded it into the ambulance. Edgeworth could swear he saw a glint of tears in his eyes.

"Sir?" he said, but the man held up a hand—signaling him to wait—and for some reason he complied, even when the gentleman left to converse with the EMTs. Edgeworth watched the house instead, waiting for the bedraggled man. Still waiting. He tapped his foot.

Eventually, the mam emerged and stood on the porch, staring. He looked at Edgeworth, grinning a little, and then shifted his gaze to the ambulance as it peeled down the road. It didn't take a detective to notice that his expression drastically changed, though it was hard to tell if he felt anything at all—Sorrow? Regret? Indifference?

"We meet again, Miles Edgeworth," he said, as he stepped onto the driveway. He didn't offer a handshake; his hands were shoved into his jeans pockets instead.

"Are you"—he caught himself instantly. Such a name could never be spoken in public—"Ryuzaki?"

L grinned. "You catch on quickly, as I expected."

Edgeworth fought to keep his composure. He was standing beside L—_the_ L. His hands were sweating. Anything he could say would sound inadequate. Nothing he could tell this man would be news to him. He knew about the case; he knew about all the major cases. _He solved them_. Edgeworth cleared his throat. "Who was that man?"

"An old friend," he replied, a little too quickly.

_I've annoyed him_, Edgeworth thought, clenching his fists. _Why would he want to talk to me, anyway? I have no purpose for being here. This was not my client._

"Is everything all right, Mr. Edgeworth?"

"Yes, yes, of course. It's an honor to finally meet you, Ryuzaki."

He didn't reply. He seemed bored by the praise, and Edgeworth mentally berated himself again. "Thank you," was his simple reply. "Please call your attorney friend and inform him of the circumstances. You can tell him that his client died of a heart attack. But no one was targeting him—he was murdered due to his decisions in the past. This should be sufficient."

"Y-yes, of course." But L was no longer paying attention. He had approached the Toyota, and the elderly gentleman opened the rear door for him.

Edgeworth wanted to say something—anything—to get him to continue talking. But L only stared at him with a hint of a smile as the door closed, leaving him to stare at that beat-up car. Defeated, he turned to walk away, but heard the whirr of a car window opening. He glanced over his shoulder.

"Do not take my leaving personally, Mr. Edgeworth," L said. "You understand that I am very busy. But it was a pleasure talking with you."

"Not at all," he replied, bowing at the waist. It felt foolish bowing to man sitting inside a beat-up car, but _something_ had to be done to show his respect. "The honor is mine."

The car puttered down the driveway and disappear toward the city, and it wasn't until it was no longer in sight that he began to breathe normally again. _That was L._ He felt lightheaded as he gripped his keys, returning to his own car.


	6. Chapter 6

_The Defense_

* * *

><p>Having Edgeworth visit his office twice in the same month was cause for concern. He knew there was bad news from the moment he walked in, a little dazed, and sat on the couch without an invitation. It looked like he'd seen a ghost, and at that point, Phoenix wouldn't have been surprised.<p>

Despite everything, he _was_ surprised to hear Edgeworth tell him that his client was dead. Dead clients were the norm, but how did _he_ know about it?

"I have a very reliable source," was his only answer. He wouldn't expand upon it, and it was infuriating.

"I could use a drink," Phoenix had groaned, sprawling out on one of the office couches.

And that was how he'd ended up tipsy at Edgeworth's estate.

_Estate_ was an exaggeration, but it was practically a hotel compared to the cramped quarters of the Wright apartment. He collapsed onto a couch and blinked slowly, staring at the extravagant décor of the living room. Or library? What room _was_ this?

"Wright." Edgeworth appeared in the doorway. He looked weird without his jacket. "I've made up a guest room for you."

"What?" He shook his head. "I've gotta go home. Maya . . ."

"I've called Miss Fey, and she will be fine. _You_, however, need to sleep." He turned, expecting Phoenix to follow, but he hadn't yet risen from the couch. _"Wright."_

"All right, all right!" He set his empty wine glass on the coaster—ha, _coasters_—and followed Edgeworth upstairs to his assigned room. He hadn't failed to notice that he said _a_ guest room, like there were a plethora to choose from. Perhaps there were, but Phoenix wouldn't have a chance to learn: They stopped at the first bedroom at the top of the stairs.

"There is a pair of pajamas and a bottle of water on the nightstand," Edgeworth said. "I suggest you take advantage of both."

"Edgeworth," Phoenix slurred, leaning against the doorframe. "Is this it? Are my clients going to stop dying now?"

He shrugged. "I can't say much for your clients. But I strongly advise that you steer clear of anyone who mentions _heart attacks_. There are still criminals out there, and it is still our duty to uphold the standards of justice. Kira is a coward—only true justice is fulfilled through our legal system."

Phoenix nodded. He'd heard a similar speech from him earlier that night, and it was growing tedious. "Okay. Goodnight, Edgey." He stumbled into the room, accidentally slamming the door behind him. He thought maybe Edgeworth was saying something, but his voice was already drowned out.

The guest room was fairly plain; Edgeworth must not have a lot of guests. It smelled faintly of wood polish, like it had just been cleaned. Phoenix strode to the window and threw it open, inhaling the sweet scent of lilacs that were growing down below. Edgeworth had this big fancy house, but not much of a view—his backyard butted up to the house behind his, and beyond that, the hint of the city skyline. "Somewhere out there," he mumbled, "L is hard at work." He grabbed the bottle of water from the nightstand and downed half of it in one go. Between the cold water and the cool night air, he was already sobering up a little.

His cell phone rang. It was nearly eleven o'clock at night, and he had no clients with potential crises—_No clients at all, _he thought with a pout—so the only person who would be calling was Maya. He was impressed with his deductive skills at such a late hour. He didn't bother checking the caller ID before picking up. "Heeeey," he drawled.

There was a brief silence before the caller said, "Mr. Wright?"

_This is not Maya_. Phoenix sat at the edge of the bed—it was a squishy mattress!—and tried to place the voice. "Yes?"

"I apologize for calling at such a late hour," he said. "This is Light Yagami. I came to speak with you before, about the heart attack victims?"

"Yes!" He sounded too excited. He had to lower his voice; Edgeworth would get suspicious. "Yes, Mr. Yagami. It's no trouble at all. Is everything okay?"

"I . . ." The boy was nervous. Phoenix tapped his feet, waiting. "I was wondering if we could meet up. I have some more questions for you, but I'm uncomfortable asking over the phone."

"_Now?_"

"No, no, not now!" Light said hastily. "Tomorrow morning? I have class at ten o'clock, but maybe we can meet for breakfast beforehand? I know a great spot where we can talk privately. I use it all the time. F-for my schoolwork."

Phoenix nodded, but Light obviously couldn't see that. He stumbled over his reply. "Yes, of course, Light. Just tell me when and where!"

He scrabbled in his coat pocket for a pen and a piece of paper, on which he slowly wrote down an address. Nine o'clock a.m. If he planned to be coherent at nine o'clock, he had to get to sleep. Phoenix assured Light that everything would be okay—it seemed to calm the boy, poor thing—and hung up. He reached for the pajamas folded on the nightstand.

"Is this _silk_?" he cried out.

* * *

><p>Phoenix wasn't surprised to see that Edgeworth was already up and dressed at eight o'clock the next morning. The coffee was brewing and the toast was toasting. Phoenix, still dressed in the pink silk pajamas, sat on a stool at the kitchen island.<p>

"Did you sleep well?" Edgeworth asked, pouring him a cup of coffee. Phoenix could only grumble a reply as he reached for the mug. Edgeworth eyed the pajamas, a smirk curling on his lips. He turned to the toaster. "Butter and jam?"

"Just jam," Phoenix managed to mumble. Despite the super-comfortable bed—and he had to admit, the silk pajamas were surprisingly cozy as well—he didn't fall asleep until nearly two a.m. He was analyzing everything that had happened that day: The client dying. Edgeworth being the one to tell him. Drinking a bottle of wine. When a plate of toast appeared before him, he didn't even want to eat it.

"You'll feel better," Edgeworth said, as if reading his mind.

"Did I say anything stupid last night?" Phoenix asked, tearing at the toast's crust. When Edgeworth only looked at him, bemused, he added, "anything out the ordinary, I mean."

"You _did_ reveal the name of your client, but either it was an alias or you were confused. It's not a name; it is a phrase."

Phoenix grunted noncommittally.

"But I did happen to overheard that you received a phone call last night," he said, sitting across from Phoenix at the island with his own breakfast. "Who would possibly be calling you at that hour?"

"Oh, that was . . . hmm." He had nearly forgotten his name already. "Light, that's it. He's a student. He's been scared about the Kira thing, so he came to talk to me. He sounded really worried."

Edgeworth peered at him over his coffee mug. "A student? Why would he be contacting you, if he doesn't require legal advice? You're not a therapist, Wright."

Phoenix nibbled on his toast. He often forgot that fact as well; most of his clients required something more than just _legal advice_. "It's not like anyone's going to hire me right now, so I'm helping him out."

Edgeworth pounded his fist on the island, causing Phoenix to jump and drop his toast in his lap, jam-side down. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself! What did that mentor of yours always say? Something about smiling?"

But Phoenix was not smiling as he gingerly picked up his toast, trying to wipe the jam off the pajamas. He did little but smear it over the silky fabric.

"'A lawyer is someone who smiles no matter how bad it gets.'"

"Then _smile_, you idiot." Edgeworth huffed, grabbing Phoenix's empty plate and heading for the sink. "And get dressed. Now I have to wash those pajamas before court."

Phoenix wasn't thrilled about wearing the same clothes as the day before, but there was no way he'd venture outside in someone else's—not that Edgeworth offered. He was too broad-shouldered, anyway; his suits would fit Phoenix like a child in his father's clothing. There was some fancy cologne in the guest bathroom that he didn't recall being there the night before (_Subtle hint, Edgeworth_, Phoenix thought) that he slapped on before rushing to meet Light Yagami.

The hostess knew exactly who he was and walked him to a back table, where Light was already seated. He had only a cup of coffee; Phoenix decided it wouldn't hurt to have a second cup himself as he sat. The waitress nodded, leaving without writing down his order.

"Are you all right, Mr. Wright?" Light asked, as Phoenix unbuttoned his jacket.

He smiled warily. "Just fine. But I should be asking _you_ that, Light."

Light stared into his coffee. He was clearly distressed over something, but . . . "My father had a heart attack," he finally said, his voice low.

"What?!" Despite their secluded location, a few patrons had turned at his exclamation. Phoenix sat back, hiding beneath the fake greenery that surrounded their booth. "I'm sorry, Light, that's—"

"He's not dead," he added hastily, waving his hands in front of him. "No, he survived, thank God. But it made me really nervous. What if Kira disagrees with the police? What if he's going to target all of them, and the Task Force as well?"

The waitress returned with Phoenix's coffee, and he waited until she was out of sight. "The police force is taking precautions, right? It _is_ dangerous for them right now, but they're doing the best they can."

Light nodded. "Yes, they're mostly staying hidden. But tell me, Mr. Wright . . ." He paused to take a sip of his coffee. "What would _you_ do, if you came in contact with Kira? You're pretty popular. He probably knows who you are."

Phoenix still wasn't entirely in a right state of mind—there was a dull ache in the back of his head, and he felt groggy and half-asleep—but there was a definite shift in Light's demeanor. With that one question this meeting had changed from casual conversation to an accusation, like Light knew something that he didn't. Phoenix chose his words carefully. "Yes, he probably does know me," he said, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. "But lawyers take that risk every day. We talk to a lot of dangerous people."

Perhaps Phoenix had imagined Light's accusatory tone, for in that moment he returned to his youthful, curious self. He smiled. "You're really brave for defending people like that. I'm planning to go into law enforcement, just like my dad. These things are really important to me."

Phoenix's coffee suddenly tasted bitter. He dropped in a few sugar cubes; Light's disgust was written all over his face. _He's that offended by sugar in coffee?_ Phoenix thought, stirring it in. It was still terrible coffee; Edgeworth's light roast had spoiled him. Or there was something else, some underlying thing, that put a bad taste in his mouth.

_Keep your cool, Phoenix_, he thought, sipping the bitter coffee.

"Is everything okay, Mr. Wright?" Light asked.

"Yes!" He nearly fumbled the cup as he set it on the table, splashing coffee onto his hands. It wasn't very hot, at least. "I'm just thinking of a client, that all."

"Oh? Anything I can help with?" Light leaned over the table slightly, even though there was no chance of anyone overhearing them. "I _am_ at the top of my class, you know. I've helped my father out a lot with investigations."

Phoenix shook his head. "No, no, you don't have to do that. I . . . uh . . . I should be going. I have an important case to prepare for. Always busy, you know. Ha-ha." He quickly rose, banging his knee on the edge of the table, and reached for his wallet. _Phew_. There was actually cash in there, and enough to cover both their coffees. He set the money on the table. "I'm really sorry that we can't talk longer."

* * *

><p><em>Kira<em>

* * *

><p>Light smiled up at the attorney. <em>What an idiot<em>, he thought. "I'm grateful for any time that you can spend with me, considering I'm not a client. Here." He pushed the money back toward him; it was probably all that he had in his wallet. "I invited you out, so please, allow me to pay."

Common courtesy said they would argue about it for a while, with the attorney ultimately paying—he _was_ the adult, even if he didn't act like it—but he only smiled as he slipped the cash back into his wallet. Phoenix Wright thanked him again and left, hurrying toward his imaginary client and a case that didn't exist.

Ryuk hovered over the table.

"I'm not killing him," Light muttered, before Ryuk could ask. "Do you know how suspicious that would look now? L already accuses me of being Kira. It would be stupid to start killing off everyone I've come in contact with."

"I didn't say anything," Ryuk said defensively. Light pulled an apple from his backpack and rolled it across the table, knocking it against the attorney's abandoned coffee. Ryuk gleefully grabbed for it, huddling in the booth as he munched on it.

"At least he's not a threat," Light said with a sigh. He rose from the booth, leaving money on the table before heading outside. "He's just going to destroy himself. I don't have to—"

"Are you Light?"

He whipped around at the unfamiliar voice, momentarily jarred. The sidewalk was packed full of people rushing to work, or appointments, or whatever they had planned for that early-morning hour, but one man remained standing firm on his spot. He knew the man right away, even though they had never spoken. His photograph was a standard in the newspapers. "Yes," he replied, bowing slightly. "And you are Miles Edgeworth, if I'm not mistaken?"

The man didn't waver. That other attorney was flighty and trusting, but his innocent student act wouldn't work on this one. Edgeworth's stare was steely, as if reading his mind. "Do you have a moment?"

"Of course," Light replied, extending an arm in invitation. "I'm on my way to class, if you wouldn't mind walking with me." Edgeworth fell into step beside him.

It was several moments before he said anything. Light didn't want to ask; anything he said would sound suspicious. It was probable that he was associated with Phoenix Wright, though a friendship between them was unlikely. But for what other reason would this attorney seek him out, and immediately after his breakfast meeting? "You've been talking with that defense attorney," Edgeworth finally said, when the pedestrian traffic had thinned. "I'm curious why."

"O-oh," he stammered, trying to ignore Ryuk's incessant chuckling. "Is he a friend of yours?"

Edgeworth stiffened. "I don't see how that's relevant."

_Damn_. "Yes, of course. I was simply curious." Light hitched his backpack up on his shoulders. "I had questions about everything that's been going on," he replied, "with _Kira_. I thought he would be the only one who believed me."

"Yes," Edgeworth said slowly, peering down at him. "But now that Kira's existence is confirmed, there is no need to seek the advice of strangers. Your father is head of the investigation, correct? Why don't you speak with him?"

_Who is this guy?_ Light thought. _Why would he know something like that?_ "I'm impressed, Mr. Edgeworth. I thought a man like you would be too busy to interfere with the work of others."

"Interfere?" He shook his head. "I am a prosecutor, Light. This information is common knowledge."

_Miles Edgeworth_. His name was well-known, and now that they had met in person it would be easy to conjure up his face. He thought he was being smart, but this was the worst possible move he could make. Did this attorney accuse Light of being Kira? He didn't say it outright, but why else would he bother a well-rounded, straight-A student?

"You understand, Mr. Edgeworth," Light said, as they approached the school, "that my father is a very busy man. I'm studying to be a detective myself. How would that look if I admitted that I was afraid?" He stopped at the foot of the staircase, with his fellow students bustling around them to get into the building. _He can't die of a heart attack_, Light thought, studying him. _Too many people have seen us together now. Maybe a car accident, or alcohol poisoning . . ._

"Oh, Light," said a voice behind him.

_No, not him_. Light inwardly groaned. _Not now!_

L sidled up beside him, then smiled evenly at Edgeworth. "And Miles Edgeworth. How interesting that you two should meet."

Edgeworth opened his mouth to speak, but words escaped him. _Do they know each other?_ Light thought, glancing between the two. _But how? Damn it! I can't kill this guy now!_

"Oh, are you acquainted?" Light asked, taking a casual step back, away from them both.

"Of course, Light," L replied, staring curiously at Edgeworth. "It would not be uncommon, given our line of work."

_What a load of crap_, Light thought. _As if he's ever shown his face to anyone before!_

"I'll be on my way," Edgeworth said, adjusting his cravat. "I wouldn't want you to be late for school." He turned to L. "It's a pleasure seeing you again, Ryuzaki."

_Why would he know that name? They're both playing me for a fool!_ He gritted his teeth as Edgeworth walked away, but he didn't have a chance to watch where he went—L quickly occupied the space in front of him, leaning forward to match his gaze. "Why would a prosecutor be talking with you?"

Light was definitely late for school, but L wouldn't let up until he gave him an answer. He had to come up with something, and fast. He casually waved a hand. "He was interviewing some students around here," he replied. "Trying to get information on a case, I think. I'm not exactly sure."

L narrowed his eyes. "You are lying, but I will accept it for now. Come now, Light; we are late for class."

He was _attending_ class now? Light reluctantly followed, glaring at the back of L's head.

* * *

><p>The notebook was filled for the next several weeks, so it wasn't disastrous that Light was unable to write anything that night. He wrote both attorney's names over and over on a piece of scrap paper, which he would burn later—<em>Phoenix Wright, Miles Edgeworth<em>. But there was no possible way he could record them in the Death Note. He leaned back in his desk chair, listening to Ryuk's crunching on apples behind him, and stared at a blank page in the notebook.

"Why aren't you writing them down?" Ryuk asked, having spied the scrap paper.

Even if their deaths were "accidents," the Task Force now knew that Kira could manipulate his victims prior to their deaths. L would catch on right away. It would practically be turning himself in.

"I just have to distance myself from them," he said, balling up the paper bearing their names. "You got off lucky, Phoenix Wright—this anxious student won't be contacting you anymore."

"That's too bad," Ryuk said, tossing another apple into his mouth.

Light turned on the television, instead distracting himself with another crop of criminals to kill. There was too much evil out there, and he couldn't worry himself over two useless attorneys.


	7. Epilogue

_The Special Provision for Kira_

* * *

><p>They were simply waiting. The plan had been set into motion, and there were a mere four hours until the SPK would come face-to-face with Light Yagami—<em>Kira<em>. For all intents and purposes, the case was closed. Tomorrow, he would file a report for Wammy's. But now, Near sat on the floor amidst more paperwork, frowning over incomplete data.

There had been a lot of dead ends with the destruction of L's data upon his demise. If only Near could have access to L's research, this case would have been a cinch. It was stupidly easy as it was, once Light Yagami got too proud. But Near wasn't concerned about Kira right now—now, as he read old newspaper articles from the beginning of the case, a name caught his eye. A name that had never been mentioned by the Task Force, or the SPK, or anyone: Phoenix Wright.

"Who is this man?" Near asked, holding up the newspaper for whoever was closest. Rester took the paper and skimmed through the article. "A well-known attorney, it seems," he replied.  
>"I can see that. But what is his association with L?"<p>

Rester returned the paper to Near's stack. "What makes you think there's an association?"

But rather than reply, Near shuffled through the newspaper stack again. There was someone else, a contemporary of this Phoenix Wright . . . "And him." His hand shot up with another newspaper.

"Miles Edgeworth?" Gevanni appeared by his side, greedily taking the newspaper. "He's a legend—the demon prosecutor. He never lost a case. Well . . ." He lowered the paper. "Not until Phoenix Wright."

"I would like to speak with them both," Near said. "Coordinate a meeting with them in an hour at the cemetery."

L's grave wasn't something that Near had a desire to visit. But it was strange now, staring at the nameless marker. L shouldn't have been there at all—his body belonged at Wammy's House—but the Task Force had known nothing of the orphanage at the time. Near wondered if Mr. Wammy's grave was nearby, too.

"Near." Rester's voice came loud and clear through the earpiece hidden beneath his hair. "They have arrived, and all entrances have been blocked off. We only have twenty minutes."

"Thank you," Near replied. "That is all I need." Though Near appeared to be the only one at the cemetery, he was not alone. Rester and Halle were several rows back, feigning mourning in their black attire; Gevanni's silhouette was visible through a window in a building across the street. Near looked up; he couldn't see Gevanni's expression from this distance, but he knew that the agent had eyes on him.

Near shuffled around to the next row of graves to watch the attorneys approach.

The one in the blue suit—Phoenix Wright—was counting off the plots, searching for the one Near had instructed they would meet. He could hear him muttering numbers under his breath. Miles Edgeworth, walking beside him, wasn't paying attention. He was looking for something—_someone_—as Phoenix stopped.

"Here it is," he said.

Edgeworth looked down at the plot. "An unmarked grave?" He frowned, visibly disappointed, as he looked around the cemetery. His gaze swept over near Near, but paid him no mind.

"Interesting," Near mumbled, twirling a strand of hair.

"How are we even supposed to know what he looks like?" Phoenix asked, though Edgeworth didn't reply. He only looked back down at the grave.

"This is . . ."

Phoenix hesitantly placed a hand on his arm—it wasn't consoling; it was stiff and unnatural-looking—but Edgeworth jerked away. To Near's surprise, Edgeworth knelt before the grave. The prosecutor didn't seem the type who would willingly dirty his immaculate-looking suit. Phoenix stood, dumbfounded, as Edgeworth pressed a hand to the freshly-packed dirt.

Near took this opportunity to reveal himself.

"Hello," he said as he approached. Phoenix jumped in surprise, having not noticed him at all, but Edgeworth slowly peered over his shoulder.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice like ice.

"I am L."

Phoenix tumbled backward, holding in his yelp of surprise as he stumbled over his own feet. But Edgeworth calmly stood, brushing the dirt of his knees, and shook his head. "No, you're not."

Near stared at him blankly. "Do you wonder _why_ a public cemetery would have an unmarked grave?"

Phoenix had gathered himself, staring back and forth between the two. "I'm missing something," he whined.

"I met L," Edgeworth said.

"You _what_?" Phoenix threw up his arms, nearly smacking Near in the head. Near ducked to avoid contact.

"I assure you, Mr. Edgeworth and Mr. Wright, that this investigation will come to a close. Today." Near crossed his arms, having nothing to occupy his hands with. He itched to return to headquarters to distract himself with building—or destroying—one card tower or another. "If you wish, you may contact Wammy's House in Winchester, England, for confirmation of my identity. I have informed them of your names, so there is nothing they will hold back from you."

"Wammy's House . . ." Phoenix wrung his hands. "Ooh, that was in the paper! The founder recently died, didn't he?"

"Yes," Near said, glancing at the unmarked grave. "He did."

Edgeworth slumped. Near could almost see the puzzle in his mind, the pieces interlocking to create the bigger picture. And with each subsequent piece placed, his eyes grew wider. Sweat trickle down his temple and he balled his fists until the knuckles were white. "Kira . . . won?"

"No"—Near shook his head—"Kira did not win. L set the stage for me to complete it. His death was a loss to us all, but it will not be in vain."

Edgeworth nodded, but Phoenix could only stare at his companion in awe. "You _met_ him?!"

"Keep up, Wright!" He turned back to Near. "What do you require of us?"

Near curiously stared at Edgeworth. Not only had this prosecutor met L—something he could not brag about himself—but he also believed that they were called here to help. Phoenix, after straightening his jacket, was the one to catch on.

"He doesn't want anything from us, Edgeworth. He just wanted to meet us."

"But . . ." Edgeworth frowned. "Why?"

It was something Near had asked himself several times, even after Rester had arranged the meeting. Seeing them in person, though, helped to complete the puzzle. He turned to Phoenix. "You had a client at the start of the investigation," he said. "His name was never recorded in the paper. Who was it?"

Phoenix glanced at Edgeworth, as if seeking his approval, but his face only mirrored the same perplexity. "Beyond Birthday."

"That's a _name_?" Edgeworth cried.

"Who is he?" Phoenix asked Near. "Did you know him?"

"We were never acquainted. But if things had been different, he would be the current L. Not me."

Edgeworth ran a hand through his hair. He appeared to be distressed—had he met Beyond Birthday, too?—but before Near could ask, Edgeworth stared at the grave and sighed. "There are many things that died with him."

Near nodded. "It was planned that way."

* * *

><p><em>The Prosecution<em>

* * *

><p>The close of the Kira investigation was not publicized. Phoenix sat on a couch in his office, furiously flipping through a newspaper, while Edgeworth poised on the couch opposite. He had removed his suit jacket, donning only a waistcoat, and slung an arm over the back of the couch to stare out the window. The sidewalks below were bustling with the lunchtime crowd; even from this distance, the people mere pinpricks, it was peaceful. Japan seemed happier.<p>

Edgeworth sighed. Truthfully, he were bored.

"But he _told_ us it would be over!" Phoenix said, throwing the paper on the coffee table.

"It _is_ over," Edgeworth said, still staring out the window. "Can't you tell, Wright? Look at that newspaper. No one's died of a heart attack."

"What if he just went into hiding? What if he killed Near? He could come back!"

Edgeworth shook his head. "He's not coming back."

News of Kira had died down around the prosecutor's office, and there was an unspoken agreement that L had defeated Kira—even if no one besides Edgeworth knew that L's identity had changed. A victory was a victory. Kira's last supposed victim was nearly a month prior. Newspapers tried to pin other deaths on him, but they weren't Kira's style. They were too sloppy and pointless. Edgeworth had been following the case closely, and he knew that it was over. Near—L—had won. Edgeworth knew that he would when Near declared victory in the cemetery, even before he came face-to-face with Kira—with Light Yagami.

Kira's identity hadn't been publicized, but Edgeworth had figured it out. He figured it out long ago, when Light had been talking to Phoenix outside the school. It didn't take much to put the pieces together, but even then he almost didn't believe it. A mere student _couldn't _be capable of mass murder. He had pushed the suspicion to the back of his mind, confident in L's abilities—and then, the abilities of his successor. To his surprise, and his disbelief, he had been correct all along.

"We're lucky we weren't killed," Edgeworth said.

"Hmm?" Phoenix looked up. "Why do you say that?"

There were a lot of reasons why he said it, but he couldn't admit aloud that he knew who Kira was. Not that he didn't trust Wright, but because it was his secret: His secret with L. "We fight to put people like Kira in jail," he replied. "Our identities aren't exactly a confidential." He picked up the discarded newspaper. "How many times have our names and faces appeared?"

Phoenix stared at the paper, considering the question. Like the answer wasn't obvious. Edgeworth dropped the newspaper to the couch turned back to the window. Neither spoke again until the office door swung open and Maya entered, bringing with her the scent of charbroiled beef.

"Burger time!" she announced, flopping onto the couch beside Phoenix. He reached into the bag for a burger, then peeled off its greasy wrapper. "Mr. Edgeworth?" she said tauntingly, as she held out the bag.

Edgeworth grimaced. He could already feel the grease coating his skin. But he grabbed a napkin, tucked it into his collar, and reached into the bag.

"Know what I saw on the news at the burger joint?" Maya asked, her mouth already full. "L is taking on a new case!"

Edgeworth swallowed a bite of his greasy burger before asking, "the bank robbery?"

"Yes! Isn't it so weird? There was no evidence that the vault was even broken into, but all this money is missing. If anyone can solve it, it's L. Everyone has confidence in him after the Kira case. It's so great."

Phoenix looked up at Edgeworth, who shook his head negligibly.

"This is surprisingly appetizing," Edgeworth said, admiring his half-eaten burger.

"Of _course_ it is!" Maya huffed, tossing a balled-up napkin at him. Edgeworth cried out in mock protest, flinging the napkin back in her direction. Phoenix was breaking out a Styrofoam container of french fries when Edgeworth's cell phone rang.

He wiped his fingers on a napkin before answering. "Miles Edgeworth."

Phoenix and Maya watched him carefully as he nodded, his replies limited to "yes, of course" and "right away" and other phrases that told them absolutely nothing about the matter of the call. He hung up, shoving his last bite of burger into his mouth.

"Edgeworth?" Phoenix said, holding a fistful of french fries.

"I have a case," he said simply, removing his napkin bib. "You may soon as well."

"But . . ." Maya pouted. "Crime is down sixty percent! We haven't had a client in weeks!"

Edgeworth smirked as he stood, throwing on his jacket and straightening his cravat. "Punishment is not always effective, Miss Fey," he said. "A time will come that past sins will have been forgotten and the underworld will reconvene. Even Kira himself will be forgotten."

Maya followed him to the door. "People can never forget Kira! He was the worst!"

Phoenix turned around. "No one had died for weeks, Maya. When people aren't being punished, they think they can get away with anything. But that's why we keep on working, and don't give up."

Edgeworth opened the door, glancing between the two of them before stepping out. "Thank you for lunch, Miss Fey," he said over his shoulder.

"Hey!" Phoenix cried. "_I _was the one who paid!" Maya flounced back onto the couch and reached for the last burger.


End file.
